Choking on a Lifesaver
by jngsjng
Summary: My life is a satire, except it's not really funny. It all started when I choked on a lifesaver. Self-Insert. OC.
1. Dead on Arrival

**Note from the Author:**

My goal in life is actually to write about every cliché and taboo this fandom has to offer. It'll be great.

* * *

How to convey the sensation of being dead? I read in a book once that if you can watch a lot of television, then being dead will be a cinch. Maybe I shouldn't have taken that into serious consideration, seeing as it's a book and the author probably didn't die before writing it, but I was thirteen at the time. It's not like I thought about dying on a regular day basis, but on nights I couldn't sleep I'd lay in bed and wonder what happens after a person lets out his or her last breath. You would die, I knew that much—I was thirteen, not stupid—but where does your consciousness drift to, if you even still have a consciousness at all? I didn't believe in ghost stories, but I was always the type of kid to ask questions and desperately want answers, and that was one of the few things I never got around to figuring out.

Until I died, that is.

To be fair, I suppose I didn't really "figure it out." More like I woke up one day after passing out on my couch to find a dead body. On my couch. I screamed bloody murder, of course—no pun intended—and then screamed even louder when I realized said dead body was my own. I tried to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming, but I was dead, and I was utterly transparent, and I think I was surprised, but then again, I was _dead_. I don't think anything could have surprised me more than that.

And then remembered how I passed out. Or died, to be exact. I popped something in my mouth—a pill, perhaps—flailed around a bit, and then dropped like a sack of potatoes. And then I remembered that I'm a good girl and don't take drugs, and that the thing I put in my mouth was actually a piece of candy.

I choked on a lifesaver.

Go ahead, laugh. I won't be offended. Not because I'm dead—I'm _dead_, not an emotionless bastard—but because I find it funny, too. Being dead is like that. I don't have any more obligations to find certain things amusing or absolutely not worth joking about, because no one is here to judge me—for what? My sins? I can laugh at my own expense, laugh at everyone else's expense, and it doesn't matter. Like I said, there wasn't anything for me to figure out. No detective work necessary. It was more like a slap in the face, in all honesty, which probably isn't a very good analogy, either, because I was transparent at the time.

Because I'm dead.

I'm still trying to come to terms with it, I think. Dying is a strange enough concept in itself, but it's even weirder when it literally applies to you. And I don't mean literally as in, oh, my god, literally—I mean literally, not figuratively, as in I am no longer the thirteen year old girl who uses that god forsaken word in every sentence that comes out of my mouth when I obviously did not _literally_ have a heart attack when I saw my favorite boy band in concert.

Well, okay. That's debatable.

You know, if you ask me, I think I'm doing pretty well (both with the whole dying thing and improving my vocabulary). It's nice having some time to adjust, though—some time being forever, but I can deal with that. I can't say I died without any regrets, because I was what? Thirteen? I was thirteen when I died. A hundred and fifty-six months is a long time, but was it enough? If you asked me while I was still alive, I'd give some sort of Miss Congeniality-esque answer because, yes, thirteen years is short, but it's far more than what so many other people get, and I should be lucky to have lived that long.

But I'm dead now. I can afford to be a little bit selfish.

If I had a bucket list, there would have probably been two or three things crossed out before that stupid lifesaver did to me the exact opposite of its name. I had people and places I'd fallen in love with through magazines or television, people and places I would never get another chance to see, and it sucks, because I had that chance, but I had to go off and _die_. I had a hundred and fifty-six months to do things, to _be_ someone, but I didn't, because I expected to have at least another hundred fifty-six to figure that stuff out.

See? Selfish.

Regrets.

I didn't tell my parents I loved them enough.

Of all things, I think that hit me the hardest. My dad would've found it funny, you know, that I died choking on a lifesaver. Maybe not now, maybe not for as long as he lived, but when he dies and he finds himself transparent and staring at his own body, he'd remember that his favorite daughter—fine, his _only_ daughter—died after choking on a lifesaver. And he'd laugh.

Mom would never find it funny. Mom would hate lifesavers for the rest of her life. But mom would find it amusing that dad and I are stupid enough to think it's absolutely the most hilarious thing we'd ever heard of, actually, legitimately, _literally_ choking on a lifesaver. And she'd laugh.

At least, I hope so. I wouldn't want them to stop living because of me. Sadness, anger, confusion—those feelings are inevitable when someone precious to you passes away, but unlike the whole dying thing, they aren't permanent. And I already have enough regrets to add leaving my parents behind to drown in those emotions to the list.

I bet you're feeling sorry for me now, huh? You, who is breathing, who is still alive. You, who probably laughed at the fact that I died because I choked on a lifesaver. You, who's glad that it's me who's dead and not yourself or anyone you personally know. You, who feels guilty because I called you out on all of that, guilty because it's all true.

It's alright. I told you to laugh at the lifesaver thing. It still sucks, but it's still funny. Besides, it's not like I'm finished telling my story. You'll stop feeling sorry for me once you hear the rest of it—then again, you might just feel even worse.

Part one is dying (I choked on that lifesaver for a good two minutes, mind you).

Part two is being dead (not death itself—well, not yet—more like the outer-body, holy crap, I'm see-through kind of experience).

And part three? Part three is supposed to be heaven or hell or whatever it is they teach us while we're still alive and capable of going to church or the temple or whatever it is your parents force you to do on Sundays. Quote, supposed to, end quote. In actuality, part three is where we've finished dying and we're already dead and we're just waiting for the next step. An evaluation of our character, maybe? Who even decides that? God? Satan? At some point in my thirteen years, I thought it'd be kind of like when I'd clean the house to avoid doing my homework, and then my mom would sigh and contemplate whether or not she should give me ice cream or double the chores. Now that I'm actually dead, though, I know better.

Part three isn't death.

Part three is what comes after it.

You die, and you wake up, and you see yourself. And then you go back to sleep, and you wake up again, and you're in a body—your body, but not—and then you cry, because that's all you can do. And then you grow. And then when you're old enough to remember things, you get a shock, because with every new memory you make, you remember something from your past life that, as a newborn, you weren't really aware existed.

I was ten when I pieced everything together.

As I blew out the candles to my cake that year, I felt my fingers twitch, and another memory flooded through my brain. It was my tenth birthday in my past life. My parents—the parents I had in that life—took me to Disneyland. It was the happiest place on Earth. And I was, you know. Happy.

After three tries, the candles went out. And I knew.

I died. I was dead. I was thirteen. I had shoulder-length black hair without any layers because I traumatized myself when I was six and for whatever reason decided to chop my hair off, dark brown eyes with matching eye bags that were actually a result of video games more than they were studying for exams, and fair skin that tanned instead of burned though neither happened often because I was never outside enough for it to occur. I was taller than most of my friends, but they were all short, so I was actually just of average height, and I wasn't overweight, nor was I underweight, but I did steal a ton of cookies out of the jar my mom tried to keep hidden from me and my dad since I was nine because we were both prone to cavities and had no self-control. (Speaking of my mom, I have only just realized that I had previously compared her to either God or Satan. I know I'm already dead and all, but for safety measures: I meant to compare her to God. And Jesus. And all the wonderful things in life.)

I died. I was dead.

Not anymore.

I'm now thirteen years old. Again. I have mid-length black hair with a few layers because being dead for so long and having the same hairstyle the whole time can get old really fast, dark brown eyes without any eye bags because Pokémon doesn't exist in the afterlife, and fair skin that tans a little more because without my Pikachu I'm forced to go outside and smell the flowers because there really isn't much else to do. I'm a little taller now, but still of average height for my age, and not overweight nor underweight, except now I don't have a jar to steal cookies from anymore. My mom doesn't nag as much as my mom in my past life, but she cares for me all the same. My dad died when I was younger, and I wasn't old enough at the time, but nowadays I find myself wondering if he's going through what I did, and if he's doing okay, too. He didn't like sweets like my dad in my past life, but like him and both my mothers, I know he loved me, too.

And so, I've come to terms with it, I think. I mean, it isn't so bad when I look at it in the long run. Dying, that is. You should've seen me when I first remembered how it happened. I was on my way to lunch with one of my friends in my new life—my current life—when I felt the familiar twitch of my fingers. And then I saw me, the old me, sitting on the couch, looking about as excited as anyone to have a marathon of Keeping up with the Kardashians. I wanted a snack, so I grabbed some candy, and right before turning on the television, I popped one in my mouth.

It was a lifesaver.

It wasn't until I got to the restaurant where my friend and I planned to meet did I realize: I had _died_ because I choked on a _lifesaver_.

And I laughed.

"Eh? What's so funny, Sachi?"

I shook my head and take a seat next to the blonde haired boy I've known since I was seven, both in this life and my last. Ignoring his confused stare, I looked over and noticed he was already holding a pair of chopsticks in his hand, undoubtedly ready to start inhaling his bowl of ramen when I arrived.

"Don't worry about it, Naruto," I told him with a grin. "I just thought of something funny. Choking on a lifesaver, you know?"

Cerulean eyes blinked. "What's a lifesaver?"

I laughed again.

That was a few months ago. If my version of death fails to impress you—because the thirteen year old girl _would_ get reincarnated into one of her favorite manga series—then I hope your own death leads you to be reborn into a world of your liking, whether to heaven, to hell (no judgement), or wherever else you please. I can't guarantee any of those are a true possibility (until I die again, maybe), but if a fictional world is real in this universe, who is to say that infinitely more don't exist in others?

I died and I'm _still_ asking questions. Man, I'm incorrigible.

Yes, I know what incorrigible means. I'm thirteen, not dumb. I was an honors student back in my past life, and I suppose some of that intellect managed to transfer over to this life, because I graduated in the top five of my class. Not that it was a particularly difficult feat to achieve. I mean, that Nara Shikamaru boy was technically the smartest kid in the whole academy, maybe even the entire village, but he's such a lazy ass that his grades were almost as bad as _Naruto's_.

Yes, I said ass. I'm thirteen, not a saint.

"Man, that was delicious!" Naruto exclaims present day; he's sitting in the same stool he was that day I remembered. I rest my cheek on my fist, staring at the boy beside me with an impressed grin before looking over at the three empty bowls of ramen in front of him.

"You've been gone for almost a week on a C-turned-A-Rank mission," I point out, raising a brow. "And it took you less than ten minutes to blow out all the money you earned from it on ramen."

"Isn't it great?" Naruto grins. "Ichiraku is the best! Way better than whatever a 'lifesaver' is!"

I bite back a snort of laughter. "For your sake, I would hope so."

"Didn't you just get back from a mission, too?" Naruto asks in-between slurps from his fourth bowl of ramen. Fourth. Bowl.

"Yeah," I affirm, nodding my head. "Ours wasn't too bad. It was a joint mission with Team 10 so the worst part was just having to listen to Ino talk about Sasuke for seven hours."

Naruto groans and slams the suddenly empty bowl onto the table. How in the— "At least you're lucky enough not to actually have him on your team! The bastard is such a—_bastard_!"

"Your level of vocabulary is astounding, Naruto," I muse, my grin widening.

"We can trade," he suggests hopefully. "You for him! Your teammates wouldn't mind, right?"

I laugh, grabbing more than a handful of change from my pockets and setting the money beside my empty bowl. That should be enough, I decide, before looking over at Naruto with an apologetic smile.

"In case you hadn't noticed, my team is practically a mirror image of yours," I tell him, standing from my seat. "Sorry, but no dice."

He blinks. "Where are you going?"

"I promised Shika I'd help him with the mission report," I explain, almost groaning but managing a somewhat polite sigh. "It's such a drag."

"Your teams spend too much time together," Naruto says, wrinkling his nose. "You're even starting to sound like him!"

"Me? Sound like Shikamaru?" I gasp, eyes wide. "What blasphemy!"

I should take this moment to clarify that the lazy ass known as "that Nara Shikamaru boy" happens to be one of my dearest friends (get it? Dear? Because he's a Nara? I know, I'm hilarious). I just also happen to use monikers with potentially wicked connotations as terms of endearment—perhaps another reason why part of me is surprised that I didn't end up in hell. I mean, I'm not evil, but I pushed a boy down the stairs once because he spit gum in my hair when I was six. At least, that's what I told our teacher. In actuality, I had a crush on him and he was flirting (coloring) with another girl, so I shoved him and stuck gum in my hair to make it seem like I was a victim (of love) (that is also how I traumatized myself into chopping all my hair off). That's pretty horrible, right? Then again, I choked on a lifesaver. Even Satan probably felt bad for me.

Whatever. There's no use in dwelling on my own shortcomings.

The top five is more impressive when you're thirteen, anyway. A student's rank in the classroom is of no use in the real world and is mainly considered for the purpose of forming squads. Sure, old habits die hard, but from what I remember the lazy ass Nara grew up to inherit his father's brilliance and went on to take over his role as Chief Strategist in what would be the most destructive war this world will ever see.

If I don't die again before then, I would be fighting in that war.

"Blasphemy, yeah," Naruto nods firmly.

A sly grin crosses my lips. "You don't know what that means, do you?"

"Do too!" the blonde exclaims hotly, though a sheepish smile is quick to appear on his face. "Aren't you leaving now? Maybe I can find Sakura and ask her on a date!"

I hum thoughtfully. "Maybe she'll say yes this time."

"You really think so?" Naruto beams, straightening up.

"Nope!" I exclaim cheerfully. Naruto nearly topples over in his seat, lips immediately jutting out into a pout, but I just laugh and start to make my way to the Hokage Tower. "Later, Naruto!"

When I was younger, I never really put much thought into it, being a shinobi and all. It isn't as if children are forced to enroll into ninja academies. A common misconception is that the default dream for every kid in this village is to become Hokage. That isn't true. Konohagakure—no matter how corrupted it is or once was or will be—is fueled by the Will of Fire. _Love is the key to peace_. That concept isn't limited to being a ninja. If I wanted to, I could have become a florist, or a medic, or maybe a veterinarian. I could be anything _but_ a ninja and still carry the Will of Fire within me.

Love is the key to peace.

Such an ideal would be dismissed so quickly in my past life. Not because people wouldn't wish for it to be true, but because it's exactly just that—an ideal. Not reality. Not in a world where not enough people were brave enough to fight for it.

I was one of those people.

That's why I chose to become a shinobi in the first place. Because I don't have to. Because I can. I had that choice in my past life—to be somebody, to believe in something and stand up for it—but I never took it. Now that I have that choice again, I realize that I don't want to be like one of those people, not anymore. I don't want to wish for an ideal. I want to make it come true.

People who are meant to go to hell probably don't think like that. Sorry for accusing you of thinking me a charity case, Satan.

Maybe that's why I was brought into this world. The exact means of how I got here is still unbeknownst to me, but I lived my life up to this point just as I lived my last. I never had to deal with the burden of knowing things because I _didn't_. Not until my fingers twitched. Not until I remembered. And most of the time, I remembered too late.

"Sachi, wait up!"

I pause midstep and turn around at the sound of my name. A brunette with her hair tied into two buns atop her head makes her way toward me, a bright smile spread across her face. Trailing behind her is a boy with long, black hair and lavender colored eyes, a prominent scowl on his features.

"Hey, TenTen," I say to the girl with a grin. Turning to her companion, I smile wider, sweeter, and bat my eyelashes for good measure. "Neji! You're looking pleasant as ever!"

I notice his eye twitch the slightest bit in annoyance, and my grin widens even more. "Sachiko," he nods, but since it's Neji, even my name somehow comes off sounding more like a threat.

"You guys can't go a minute without fighting, huh?" TenTen muses, glancing at her teammate before looking over to me.

"Not fighting," I correct her. "Socializing, Neji style."

Neji snorts promptly. "You're an idiot."

"How you wound me," I sigh, crossing my arms. "And after all we've been through together."

I was three when Hinata got kidnapped by the Cloud. I knew something would happen, something worse than the heiress of the Hyuuga clan being removed from the village, but I didn't remember what that something was. Not until Hyuuga Hiashi killed for his daughter. Not until Hyuuga Hizashi died for his brother. Not until Hyuuga Neji _hated_ for his father.

A few days after the incident that came to be known as the Hyuuga Affair, I met him. He was at a playground near my house, and he was crying. And angry. And sad. He was four. I had heard what happened from my parents, and I knew, of course. In my past life, I would have walked away, maybe called for an adult, because I was taught not to talk to strangers, not to meddle in other people's life. But I didn't. I was young, too young to know everything I know now, but I understood enough. Even then, I wanted to change, to _do _something. And so, I sat down next to him.

He shoved me off the swing.

The _nerve _of that boy.

"Where are you off to?" TenTen asks, wisely cutting in before one of us tries to rip the other's head off.

"Hokage Tower," I answer, trying not to whine. Paperwork sucks. "I have to fill out a mission report because my sensei is as lazy as Neji is a jerk—okay, that was a joke, sorry!"

I grin and hold my hands up in surrender, taking a step back as the Hyuuga takes a dangerous one forward.

"It's true, though," TenTen adds.

I turn my head and nod at her gratefully. "I know."

In all honesty, I didn't expect much to come out of that little exchange. The next time I talked to the boy, I was five, he was six, and the same thing happened. I knew who he was, and he was aware of my existence. That was the extent of our relationship. I didn't think I changed much, and for the longest time, it didn't. Hyuuga Neji, now at fourteen years old, is every bit of the pompous jerk he would have been even if he hadn't met me. Just a few days ago, I ran into him at that same playground, and the little _shit_ pushed me off the swing _again_ while I was _midair_.

Granted, I told him he looked like a girl. Sorry for giving you mixed signals, Satan.

Before I could plan my revenge, one of his clan members arrived to tell him it was almost time for dinner—I didn't even know people still _did_ that—and to my surprise, Ne-jerk was about civil as a mouse. He glared at her, sure, and then he glared at me, but that was his face most of the time.

He _thanked_ her.

It wasn't until they left did I recognize the girl who came to get him.

Hinata.

That was the day I realized _something_ changed. It wasn't much, mind you—Neji still hates the main branch, still believes in irreversible fate—but it was enough for him to show the slightest bit of kindness to the cousin he was supposed to absolutely abhor.

Why? Because I sat next to him that day nearly ten years ago?

"If you don't shut up now, I _will_ hurt you both."

I'd like to think so.

"Congrats, Neji," I say with sincerely false enthusiasm. "For being the most unoriginal and unthreatening ninja on the planet."

The Hyuuga boy narrows his eyes. "Do you want to repeat that?"

"Nah," I shrug, the corners of my lips lifting into a faint smirk. I gesture to the Hokage Tower just about a mile away. "I'm late enough as it is. Maybe another time."

"Alright," TenTen says, grinning. "It was nice running into you! Our teams should train together again sometime!"

I let out a snort at the same time Neji scoffs, sounding almost offended, which only makes me laugh even harder. Nodding in approval, I wave at her and stick my tongue out at the boy, who looks completely unimpressed as I begin to take my leave.

There is this world, and the world I once knew, and worlds that I might never know. There isn't much I can do to change the past, and I doubt my presence alone could change much of the future, but the point is that if I wanted to, I could. I could change things. Not a lot, but enough. A spark to light the fire, if you will (no pun intended, but you can laugh, anyway). I refuse to allow myself to live without purpose, to sit back and let myself waste a second life. There are certain things too big for me to even grasp, and I get it. The Nine Tails' attack, the Hyuuga affair, the Uchiha massacre—those were, and still are, all out of my league.

That doesn't mean I can't try.

"Oh, Sachi! One more thing!" TenTen calls out. I turn around curiously. "Will you be participating in the Chunin Exams?"

Beside her, Neji pales, and I can tell by the way his frown deepens that the thought of a rookie entering the exams—or rather me irritating the hell out of him in an actual life or death situation—didn't cross his mind.

I shrug, but can't help the grin seeping onto my face. "Who knows?"

I'm not a prodigy. I'm not a genius. I just got a thirteen year head start.

And I plan to make the most of it.

* * *

**Note from the Author:**

Thanks for reading! Man, am I gonna enjoy writing this a _lot_. I typed this all out on my phone at four in the morning, so who knows if it makes any sense. I'm kind of just winging it like Sachiko, which probably isn't the best plan, but whatever. This story is meant to look into how her mind works, her thoughts, her feelings, her interactions with others. I don't think it has to make sense all the time, right? In any case, next chapter marks the start of the Chunin exams! That means more canon characters. Oh, and Sachiko's teammates. Any guesses what they're like? Guess you'll see soon!


	2. Before the Storm

**Note from the Author:**

I decided to put together the prologue and first chapter together. Just because. Which is why the first chapter is nearly five thousand words, wow.

* * *

According to parents, there's no such place as heaven or hell. At least, if you're a child. At that age, all that exists are the clouds, and if you don't fall for that, then there's always the good old "better place" excuse. Part of it is an attempt to shelter them from the truth—that there is life, and then there is death—but another reason is simply not knowing. What happens next? I do believe we've already established that—for those who still need some convincing, I assure you that I am very much alive, after having very well died—but there is no proof, no evidence, nothing to make it real for the people left behind. Hence why we cling to the hope that life is the worst of it, and that after death, things do, in fact, get better.

I haven't lived long enough in this life to decide if that's true.

That doesn't mean it's bad. I have a roof over my head, enough food to eat, people who care—life is _good_. There are certain things exclusive to my past life, things I used to love that I can no longer have, but it isn't such a loss—video games have been replaced by real-life missions, ramen has become a frequent choice for breakfast rather than a bowl of cereal, and reality television is like watching senior citizens play bingo in comparison to watching Naruto pull Punk'd-on-steroids-level pranks. Now that I think about it—and forgive me for being a brat—I'd say at this point the actual worst of it is having to wake up early for training.

"He's stupid."

"An idiot."

"Moronic, actually."

Scratch that—having to wake up early for training _with Team 7_.

"You make a lovely team," I chime in tiredly, arms crossed and eyes shut as I lean back against a tree trunk.

Three pairs of eyes are on me in an instant, but I pay them no mind because it's four in the morning and I really shouldn't even be awake at the moment. That part of me hasn't changed; I wasn't at all a morning person in my past life, and I shamelessly admit that I'm no better in this one. The fact that I'm up and at the training grounds on a _Monday_, no less, makes me a little less than pleased. Monday mornings suck no matter where you're from.

"Aw, come on, Sachi!" Naruto grumbles, kicking his feet on the dirt. "Aren't you upset Kakashi-sensei is late, too? Between the six of us, we can totally take him!"

I shrug half-heartedly. "He's your sensei, not mine."

To be honest, I'm more upset that Naruto never learned the true meaning of silence, but I couldn't very well say that to his face (okay, I did, six times, and he ignored me each time, whatever). Don't get me wrong, I consider him a great friend, but great friend or not he's definitely one of the loudest people I've ever met in my life—both lives—and loud people plus mornings equal a not very happy me. I had hoped that Sasuke or maybe even Sakura would do a better job at shutting him up, but it's just my luck that the one thing Team 7 agrees on is their mutual irritation towards their Jonin squad leader's less than perfect attendance rate.

Seriously. Of all things.

I guess it's good that they're getting along, though. Naruto told me about their mission in the Land of Waves, and although I already _knew_ about it, hearing it from someone who was there firsthand is almost another story in itself. They met Zabuza and Haku, Naruto tapped into the Fox's chakra for the first time, Sasuke was as good as dead—it's the story we're told, but I should've known the second I had been reborn into this world that reality isn't confined to a screen or a few panels on a page. Did you know Naruto almost drowned? Just because he thought walking on water would be just as easy as walking up a tree (which he couldn't do at the time either, mind you) and Sasuke ended up pushing him into a river to "test out the theory." Sakura helped Tsunami bake a small batch of cookies and forced the boys to hand them out to the kids on the streets. Sasuke accidentally activated his newly-awakened Sharingan every time he was so much as startled and spent a good three days trying to break the habit (but not before Naruto turned violet with bruises). I didn't know that. I didn't know any of that. Those three went through a lot together, more than even _I_ thought, which is admittedly arrogance on my part. I'm beginning to understand that I can't afford to only rely on the things I already know, because as I said, reality isn't limited to those events. Not anymore. And it's precisely because of that do Naruto and his teammates need each other more than ever—after all, if we can't depend on life to be consistent, we can always count on our friends.

"Stop bothering her, Naruto," Sakura grumbles, punching the top of his head.

Naruto winces and lets out a screech in pain, but he doesn't relent. "They've been here as long as we have! Look, even Hikaru looks pissed!"

I like to believe that's how they show they care.

Speaking of teammates, I should take this moment to explain that the Hikaru just mentioned is one of my own. Akiyama Hikaru, to be exact, also known as the boy with contrasting crimson hair and electric blue eyes sitting to my left, and further known as our squad's very own ninjutsu specialist extraordinaire. He's also proficient in taijutsu and fairly knowledgable in genjutsu, not to mention quite adept to using weapons and strategizing in battle, so it's needless to say he shouldn't be taken lightly unless you're a masochist. Or stupid. Or both.

"I'm not pissed at your sensei," Hikaru mumbles, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm _pissed_ because it's four in the morning and I'm outside in the _fucking_ cold."

Fun fact: he isn't a morning person either.

I jab my elbow into the ribs of the boy dozing off on my other side. He yelps surprise before sitting up straight, bright green eyes snapping open as he furiously rubs his chest. Dark brown hair falls over his eyes as he looks around for the culprit, and when his gaze finally lands on me, I don't bother to hide my grin.

"What was that for, Sachi?" he whines, lips jutting into a pout.

Meet my second teammate: Saito Daichi, an absolute genius when it comes to genjutsu and likely the biggest brat in this world (and plenty others, I'm sure). He's also pretty good with ninjutsu, even compared to Hikaru, but his taijutsu sucks to the point where even _I_ could probably lift more than him.

Considering I can barely do a push-up, that's a little embarrassing on his part.

"Hikaru's pissed," I tell him, my grin widening. "At _you_."

Daichi stiffens, and suddenly all the color drains from his face. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from snickering at his expression, knowing exactly why he's afraid. Hikaru is the golden boy—handsome, ranked second in his entire graduating class, even arguably one of the strongest Genin in the village—and he's similar to other prodigies, like Neji and Sasuke, in those aspects. The difference is that while the latter two can sometimes be a bit unpleasant to hang around, Hikaru is almost always polite and oh-_so_-charming. It takes a lot to upset him—the only exceptions I can think of are mornings and people who make him wake up early enough to be annoyed at the former in the first place—but just because he doesn't anger _easily_ doesn't mean he's incapable of getting _pissed_.

In this case, that all leads back to Daichi.

I've learned in the relatively short amount of time I've known them that Hikaru can be quite the monster when he's awake before five am. Daichi, on the other hand, is like Naruto in that he is on a constant sugar rush and therefore can never shut up no matter the time of day. That combination isn't exactly ideal, especially for morning practice, but I'd like to think my teammates aren't as vicious to each other as Naruto and Sasuke are on a daily basis.

"Come on, Hikaru, I told you it was an accident!" Daichi exclaims, scratching lightly at his neck—a habit of his that he does whenever he's nervous—before leaning over me to poke the redhead on my other side with his free hand.

Hikaru glowers. "Get away from me."

For the most part.

I snort and shake my head. "Just wait a couple hours, Dai. You of all people should know he's going to be hell bent until the sun comes up."

"Don't remind me," Daichi groans, slumping back against the tree. "You're lucky you didn't go to school with him. I can't believe he wasn't banned from morning classes!"

Here's another fun fact: Hikaru and Daichi graduated the academy a year ahead of me. Because my class had an extra number of graduating students, there were a few who couldn't be put into a group with their classmates and were instead sent to complete already-formed Genin squads short one or two members; I was one of those people. It's like starting from scratch, which can be a bit of a disadvantage—you don't know your teammates or their capabilities, much less have any idea whether or not you'll be compatible together as a group—but fortunately for me and my team, we turned out just fine.

Well, eventually.

I still remember our first meeting. It felt like I was walking into homeroom on the first day of school. A new school. In another country. In a different world. I had heard of Akiyama Hikaru before, seeing as he graduated in the top one percent of his class the year before mine. Saito Daichi wasn't as familiar of a name, but once I met him in person, I realized I'd seen him around the village a few times, either at the market shopping for dinner or practicing over at the training grounds. It was a relief that they weren't complete strangers, but although I knew of them, I didn't really know them personally.

As required of all newly formed squads, we were given a survival test. I'm sure the boys took one when they first became Genin, which they obviously passed, but since I was a new addition, we had to prove that _we_ were capable of working as a team. It didn't go over so smoothly in the beginning. I didn't know Daichi specialized in genjutsu, and he didn't think to mention it to me, so I'd either been caught in one or two of his illusions or accidentally dispelled them right off the bat before they could be of any use. On top of that, Hikaru, who was used to being the main ninjutsu user of his team, didn't expect me to use it in battle, too, so there were times when our jutsus would backfire and cancel each other out. Looking back on it, that test was kind of a train wreck, but it served its purpose—we passed, somehow, and in the time since then, we've learned to read each other's minds, both on the battlefield and off.

Figuratively speaking, I mean. We don't know how to read minds. We're a pretty good team regardless, though.

"I've never seen Hikaru get so upset before," Sakura pipes up, glancing curiously at us. I don't blame her, of course. It isn't unusual for our team to have joint training with theirs, but we usually meet up for afternoon practice when Hikaru is nothing less than the perfect gentleman.

"He doesn't usually," I clarify. "He's just pressed that we're unnecessarily awake at this time because Dai-chan—"

The brunette suddenly groans, covering his ears. "Sachi, don't!"

I don't say anything for a second. In fact, no one does, and I take a moment to finally enjoy the silence. And then Naruto promptly bursts into laughter.

"_Dai-chan?_"

"His mom calls him that," Hikaru explains suddenly, the corners of his lips twitching into a grin. He still looks tired, but at the mention of his friend's nickname, the scowl that threatened to settle on his face has since begun fading away.

I grin wickedly. "Isn't it adorable?"

Naruto only laughs louder, and for the first time that morning, I don't mind the sound and just laugh along with him. Sakura follows suit, failing to stifle her giggles with the back of her hand, and to my pleasant surprise, even _Sasuke_ is smirking. What a development.

"Nice to see you kids getting along," a familiar voice chimes in.

I look up at the branch above us to find a woman with black hair and equally dark eyes staring at our group with a raised brow. She isn't smiling, but a corner of her mouth is tilted into a faint smirk—a trademark of hers—that signals her amusement.

"Akane-sensei," I greet her, waving slightly. "You're late."

"You're early," she corrects, taking a step forward and landing smoothly in front of us. "You know very well that if Dai-chan hadn't—"

"Not you, too, sensei!" Daichi cries.

Akane-sensei shrugs, but the smirk is still there—she's enjoying this as much as we are. "Serves you right, brat."

Last but not least to round up the crew, allow me to introduce you to Yamamoto Akane: S-ranked slave-driver formally known as our Jonin squad leader. I swear she's not always like that—really, she's much worse. Not in a bad way, of course. Akane-sensei is calm, cool, and collected, but she doesn't take crap from anyone, nor does she sugarcoat things just to make people feel comfortable. It's one of the main reasons why our team is so grounded, so despite her methods, I don't have much room to complain.

"What did he do?" Naruto asks, grinning widely. "Did he prank someone? Was it awesome?"

Hikaru and I let out a simultaneous snort of sarcastic laughter as Daichi seems to sink further into the ground. Akane-sensei clicks her tongue, but her eyes sparkle with sadistic mirth. "Sure," she says. "If you call peeking into a women's sauna awesome."

Sasuke raises a brow. Sakura lets out a horrified gasp. Naruto bursts into another round of laughter.

"It was an _accident_!" Daichi exclaims, and by the look on his face, I'm half-expecting him to burst into tears.

Yes, I'm horrible. I'm thirteen, not an angel. I kind of missed that chance when I took the detour to my next life.

"What does that have to do with being early?" Sakura inquires. Her question is directed at our team as a whole, but she's glaring quite obviously at Daichi. Man, he is never going to live this down.

"Akane-sensei promised the women at the bath house that she'd 'punish Dai-chan for his wrongdoings and make him repent for his sins,'" I quote dryly.

Hikaru sighs and picks up from where I left off. "Unfortunately for her, that means D-Rank missions."

"Because Daichi hates those more than anything," I add, answering the unspoken question. "And even worse, so do we."

"Now we're stuck babysitting some kids," Hikaru continues. "But that isn't enough of a punishment, so Akane-sensei made us meet up at an ungodly hour just to watch us squirm."

"It sucks," we conclude at the same time.

Everyone is looking at us. I blink and tilt my head to the side, as if to ask why they're staring, and unsurprisingly, Naruto is the first to speak.

"That's kind of creepy," he mutters, squinting his eyes at us. "How do you even do that? Like, finish each other's sentences and everything?"

"What are you talking about?" Hikaru and I chorus.

Sasuke raises a brow. "Not only do you finish each other's sentences, but you even say all the same things."

"At the same time," Sakura adds, giggling lightly. "It's kind of cute."

I turn to Hikaru. He does the same to me. "Do we?" Maybe I wasn't kidding about the whole mind-reading thing?

"If the twins are done," Akane-sensei interrupts, sounding bored as ever. "Can I explain the mission now?"

I nod. "Sure."

"Go ahead," Hikaru shrugs.

"Like you said, we're babysitting some kids," Akane-sensei explains, wrinkling her nose. This might just be as much of a punishment for her, too. "Well, yeah. That's pretty much it. Oh, yeah, and I signed you up for the Chunin exams."

My mouth drops open, Hikaru stands completely still, and I wouldn't be surprised Daichi if gets whiplash from how fast his head snaps up. We're on our feet in seconds.

"You did _what_?" Daichi stutters.

I should've expected this. In fact, I did, especially since TenTen brought it up just a few days earlier, but for whatever reason I still find myself thoroughly shocked at her words. The Chunin exams are for those with a fairly decent amount of experience ready to take it to the next level. There is no question that shinobi with skills far more enhanced than my own will be participating—it's only been a little over two months since I graduated the Academy, after all. Despite what I've learned, there's still so much I don't know.

Of course, another reason for my skepticism is that I already _know_ too much. With the Chunin exams come the invasion of Konoha, and as prepared as I always imagined I'd be for the events to come, it feels like everything is about to come crashing down. _Literally_. The Forest of Death is where it all starts to come together, and the end of this arc is where things begin to come undone. How much suffering will everyone have to go through if Sasuke receives the curse mark? How much of the story—no, _future_—will change if he doesn't? What about the invasion? I could save a hundred lives if I tell someone what would transpire in the next month or two, but in doing so, Gaara might not end up fighting Naruto. He might never change. And then what? How many lives will be endangered because the Shukaku continues to be untamed?

Again and again with the questions.

I don't think I ever realized just how much is at risk. Maybe it's because I've never had to deal with the guilt—of lying, of knowing—but that's because I've never really needed to.

Do I have to now?

"You don't have to take it if you feel you aren't ready," Akane-sensei tells us, nonchalant as ever, especially compared to my internal turmoil. "But I wouldn't have signed you up if I didn't think otherwise."

I turn to Hikaru and then look over at Daichi on my other side. I don't doubt their abilities—I don't even doubt my own. I might not be great, but I'm good, and that's enough for me to want to try. But can I participate in this test knowing that I'm walking right into a trap? Even more so knowing that triggering it will set off a chain of events that will eventually lead to a world war?

Get a hold of yourself, Sachiko. That's four years away—you're thinking too much and too far ahead as it is.

"Akane-sensei," Hikaru mumbles. I look over at him again. His eyes are steel, as they always are whenever a serious topic is brought up, but there's a ghost of a smile on his face. "Thanks."

_Thank you for believing in us._

Despite the circumstances, I can't help but match his expression. Beside me, Daichi nods mutely, though he's smiling widely, too.

Naruto blinks. "What? What are the Chunin exams?"

I'm surprised Sasuke didn't pass out considering how far his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

"It's self-explanatory, Naruto," Sakura sighs, slapping a hand to her forehead.

"The Chunin exam is the test every Genin has to take in order to become Chunin," Hikaru clarifies. It's only seventeen minutes after four; I'm mildly impressed that he's already starting to calm down.

"Oh," Naruto blinks. He looks up at Akane-sensei with wide, bright blue eyes. "I wanna take it."

To her credit, Akane-sensei doesn't even flinch at the puppy-dog expression on his face, but her ever-present smirk widens a quarter of a millimeter at the blonde's obvious innocence. That's a lot of emotion for her, you know. Not that I blame her. Like I said, Naruto is obnoxious, but he's one of the most genuine people in this world. He cares more about being real than being nice, which is one of the things Akane-sensei lives by.

I might have to adopt that idea soon.

"Talk to your sensei about that," Akane-sensei tells him. She beckons our team over, and we're quick to comply. I wave at Naruto and nod over to Sakura and Sasuke, tucking my worries away in the back of my mind; I can focus on that after bratsitting. "Sorry to leave so abruptly, kid, but we have a mission to do."

She forms a hand sign, and then we're gone.

* * *

**Note from the Author:**

Things are moving at a fluctuating rate, but that's just how Sachiko think; she asks a question and then thinks of another one before thinking of an answer to the first, and then she's scrambling to find answers for both. I hope that also explains why I'm not quite following the "show don't tell" rule just yet—Sachiko knows more than she should, and since she can't exactly tell anyone about it, she's forced to settle with laying her thoughts out if only for herself (and the reader, of course). Can you imagine holding all of that in?

In any case, the next chapter should be out soon. I'm writing this for myself, too, you know! This one was mostly to introduce Sachiko's team and of course, the first arc. Can't wait to see what role Sachiko plays in the scheme of themes.

Thank you for reading! Please review, hehe.


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